The PList
by Sailor Taichichi Vegeta
Summary: He's not scared of ALL his ghosts. Especially not on Presidents' Day.  Rated for slight language and mentions of naughty stuff


The P-List

(by Sailor Taichichi Vegeta)

This goes out to everybody who didn't get a bargain mattress. Short fic is short. XD

Disclaimer

Hey, hey, Mama, more hot cider!

Hey, hey, Papa, hey, hey, Papa!

I can't forget the taste of that grilled cheese-and-bacon sandwich that nobody wanted to share with me!

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

Draw a circle, that's the Earth,

I'm not Himaruya and therefore own nothing!

* * *

><p>America shoveled down his food, completely oblivious to the ghost drifting up behind him. He took a last bite of sausage just as the specter began to whisper to him.<p>

"Bleaaaaarghackackack!"

Richard M. Nixon's spirit looked unimpressed. "When are you going to finish paying back China?" he repeated.

"I dunno…" pouted America, giving one last hack. "I didn't even wanna think about that while I ate."

"Why _are_ you having breakfast at ten o'clock at night?" asked the ghost of Abraham Lincoln as he phased into view. Other former Presidents began to join them.

"I forgot I had an early meeting today, so of course I had to skip it. No sense wasting good food though." To prove his point, he shook some Mrs. Dash onto his boiled egg and took a bite. "So how have y'all been today?"

"Things have been rather uneventful today. We spent a quiet day at home and thought about the direction in which our nation is headed," replied Woodrow Wilson, leveling a stare at America.

"Aw, are you still upset about that? Prussia and I were stressed out, it'd been a long week, and we got the grass stains out of the carpet in the end. It wasn't that bad, right?" He looked for support to the nearest ghost, but that happened to be Calvin Coolidge, who merely raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm pretty sure I told you this already, but I got a coworker I think you'd like… Oh! Speaking of Prussia, he gave me this sweet book, there's an article on y'all…"

He reached into the bag that rested next to his chair, produced You Might Be a Zombie and Other Bad News, and flipped to an article entitled _The Four Most Badass Presidents of All Time_. "Now you guys have to promise you won't get mad if you didn't make it in here, okay?"

Andrew Jackson said, "Although no one in this room wishes such a fate for you, death makes one remarkably adept at putting things into perspective."

"Huh. Good point, Old Hickory. Right, number four –well, speak of the devil! It's you!" A few wags applauded. "It mentions the beatings, the duels… that wannabe assassin… I wish it'd said something about your inauguration." He grinned. "All that cheese, all that smashed-up stuff… And remember how we got everybody to leave?"

Jackson returned the grin. "We had to move the beer outside."

"Oh yeah! Now THAT was a wild party! Number three! My man, JFK!" More applause. "Say, what's this? Your _teeth_? I knew you fought for your country, but you dragged a guy to safety with your teeth and you never told me!"

"It was just the right thing to do," shrugged Kennedy.

"Let's see… ah, it discusses how you kept your pimp hand strong." America giggled, while some of his former leaders sighed. "Wait! Blaze freakin' Starr? You never told me about that either!"

No response this time, but JFK did accept a high-five from Clinton.

"Fine then. Anyway… Number two, the Father of Our Country, George Washington! Hooray!" Everyone clapped this time. "And here's a nice record of your horrendous mood swings. We love you anyway –uh, how do you say this? My Iroquois is rusty. Canto… Cana…"

Washington leaned in over his shoulder. "'Caunotaucarius.'"

"Yeah, thanks. 'Town Destroyer.' No bullet wounds. Made a country. _Awesome_."

Washington, who remembered Prussia, went silent like JFK had done.

"And last but not least… Theodore Roosevelt! D'you know this book is dedicated to you?"

"Really?" asked the bespectacled specter.

"Yeah. 'For refusing to collapse into an earth-devouring black hole under the force of its own staggering density, we dedicate this book to Theodore Roosevelt's left testicle.'" He ignored the awkward silence and continued, "I won't even try to list all the stuff you did… Oh hey, it mentions your assassin too. And I took your advice, the new exercise machine I ordered just came in and I'm gonna start using it Friday. I swear."

It was Roosevelt's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"I swear!" repeated America. "Y'know, there's a lot of good articles in here–" A beeping sound cut him off. "Crud. I have another early meeting tomorrow, I need to get to sleep."

"You can finish your breakfast," said Reagan gently, correctly interpreting the nation's longing expression, "but make sure you go to bed right after."

"Okay." He smiled and took up the Mrs. Dash again. "I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

America shook the bottle a bit too hard, and half its contents spilled out in a pile over the egg.

"…Somehow I get the feeling I just answered my own question."

* * *

><p>The book is real, the article is real. FIND IT. READ IT. This came from the kinkmeme, and sort of warped into America hanging out with his former bosses. It's set sometime in the future because I wanted Clinton's ghost there goofing off. I too like to picture all the Presidents haunting the White House, and I don't think they'd scare America. They're pretty mellow here, but you know they argue when he isn't home.<p>

Somehow I feel I put too many exclamation points in here.


End file.
